While he was discoursing so amiably upon the subjects he knew so well by means of an inherited intelligence that came down through generations, I allowed my thoughts to drift upstairs to that frightened, hunted little fellow-countrywoman of mine, as intolerant, as vain perhaps as he after a fashion, and cursed the infernal custom that lays our pride so low. Infinitely nobler than he and yet an object of scorn to him and all his people, great and small; a discredited interloper who could not deceive the lowliest menial in her own household into regarding her as anything but an imitation. Her loveliness counted for naught. Her wit, her charm, her purity of heart counted for even less than that. She was a thing that had been bartered for and could be cast aside without loss--a pawn. And she had committed the inconceivable sin of rebelling against the laws of commerce: she had defaulted! They would not forgive her for that. My heart warmed toward her. She had been afraid of the dark! I can forgive a great deal in a person who is afraid of the dark. I looked at my watch. Assuming a careless manner, I remarked: "I am afraid we shall be late for the start. Are you going out with us in the boat or would you prefer to browse about a little longer? Will you excuse me? I must be off." His cynical smile returned. "I shall forego the pleasure of browsing in another man's pasture, if you don't mind." It was almost a direct accusation. He did not believe a word of the Britton story. I suddenly found myself wondering if he suspected the truth. Had he, by any chance, traced the fugitive countess to my doors? Were his spies hot upon the trail? Or had she betrayed herself by indiscreet acts during the past twenty-four hours? The latter was not unlikely; I knew her whims and her faults by this time. In either case, I had come to feel decidedly uncomfortable, so much so, in fact, that I was content to let the innuendo pass without a retort. It behooved me to keep my temper as well as my wits. "Come along," said I, starting off in the direction of the lower regions. He followed. I manoeuvred with such success that ultimately he took the lead. I hadn't the remotest idea how to get to the confounded dungeons! It never rains but it pours. Just as we were descending the last flight of stairs before coming to the winding stone steps that led far down into the earth, who but Britton should come blithely up from the posterior regions devoted to servants and their ilk. He was carrying a long pasteboard box. I said something impressive under my breath. Britton, on seeing us, stopped short in his tracks. He put the box behind his back and gazed at me forlornly. "Ah, Britton," said I, recovering myself most creditably; "going up to see little John Bellamy, I suppose." I managed to shoot a covert look at Mr. Pless. He was gazing at the half-hidden box with a perfectly impassive face, and yet I knew that there was a smile about him somewhere.